


Breaking Through The Cracks

by MagicaDraconia16, Quietier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dragons, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV The Asset/Soldat, Post-Avengers (2012), Shapeshifting, WinterIron Reverse Bang 2019, artwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-16 02:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietier/pseuds/Quietier
Summary: HYDRA thought it was a brilliant idea: kidnap Tony Stark and forcibly change him into a mythical creature that would do their bidding. They forgot one salient point: it's Tony Stark and he doesn't accept any authority but his own. They have no choice but to send their prized Asset to take care of him.They're going to regret that.





	Breaking Through The Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Winteriron Reverse Bang. Wonderful art by the lovely Quietier. 
> 
> Prompt: Tony was taken by Hydra not long after the New York invasion, who experimented heavily on Tony. The Winter Soldier escapes his captivity and finds Tony locked up in his dragon form in a huge cell and decides he should break this poor creature out as well. 
> 
> TITLE: Breaking Through The Cracks  
ARTIST: Quietier/quietscribbles  
AUTHOR: MagicaDraconia16  
PAIRING: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark  
RATING: mostly Gen, hints of future relationship  
WARNINGS: Implied/referenced torture, brainwashing, all the fun warnings that come with the Asset/Soldat/Winter Soldier  
SUMMARY: As above  
LINK TO ART: https://quietscribbles.tumblr.com/post/186869493065/finished-picture-for-the-winteriron-reverse-band

The screaming had finally stopped echoing around the base.

Not that the Asset cared much one way or the other about screaming – _it’d_ certainly screamed enough times when it’s handlers had had to wipe it or otherwise punish it for failing to complete a mission to their satisfaction – but it tended to make the less-hardened technicians jumpier, which was not a good thing in a technician working wrists deep in the Asset’s arm.

Conversely, though, the _lack_ of screaming seemed to upset the technicians _more_. The Asset watched as a group of them huddled together behind the Chair, whispering to each other. They appeared to be debating heatedly, shaking their heads emphatically every so often.

“I know!” one exclaimed abruptly. “We can send the Asset!”

There was a dubious silence.

“You really think they’ll let us use the _Asset_ as a caretaker?” another one asked. “It’s a highly trained weapon!”

“But it’s less likely to be hurt if it does something wrong, or he just takes a dislike to it,” the first technician pointed out, sounding more excited now. “Besides, it’s not doing anything while they wait for Fury to show up.”

If the Asset had had feelings, it might have begun feeling trepidation at this, but it didn’t, so instead it remained standing at attention against the wall where its handler had left it some days ago.

“Ask Rumlow,” a third one suggested. “He can ask Pierce.”

Another argument broke out, debating which unlucky technician would be given the task of asking one of the top lieutenants of HYDRA whether they could borrow the organisation’s elite assassin for a dangerous, but menial, job.

The debate was settled by the man himself appearing in the lab doorway. “Asset!” he barked. “Follow me!” Even as the Asset stepped away from the wall, Brock Rumlow was turning to leave the room again.

The Asset was led in silence to another room two floors below the laboratory where it’d been stored. It automatically checked its surroundings as it entered: small, barely six foot by six foot [hampered for space if a group attacked]; thick stone walls [good for smashing heads again], but with a large piece of cloth hanging on the wall opposite the door [could be torn down and used to smother or strangle someone, and if the material couldn’t be torn, then it could still be used to hang someone]; three chairs [easily smashed for weapons] lined up in front of this cloth, with a small square table [also easily smashed] off to one side.

Sitting in one of the chairs, one leg casually crossed over the other, was a person that the Asset knew to be the ultimate authority of this particular branch of HYDRA. Alexander Pierce was studying the contents of a file folder, the pile of pages big enough that he had to constantly keep a hand on them to stop them falling everywhere.

“Stand there,” Rumlow ordered the Asset, pointing to the patch of wall beside the door. The Asset obediently took his place. “Sir, the Asset.”

“Hmm.” Pierce hummed in acknowledgement but made no move to look up. A power play, which the Asset vaguely thought was unnecessary; Rumlow was already his subordinate, and had showed no signs of impatience or eagerness or disagreement. Pierce was ignoring him because he _could_.

Silence descended on the room, except for Pierce’s shuffling of paper and the men’s breathing. The Asset unfortunately couldn’t function without breathing, but it ensured that it kept its breaths shallow and silent.

Eventually, Pierce obviously decided he’d proved his importance enough, and he finally glanced up at Rumlow. “You really think this is a good use of the Asset?” he asked.

Rumlow ducked his head. “Perhaps not, sir,” he said, “but he’s killed, or severely maimed, everyone else who’s gone in that room with him. It’s getting to the point where either we have to get people off the street to do it, or we start sacrificing our best scientists.”

Pierce folded his arms and looked thoughtful, although the Asset didn’t think he really was; it had the impression that Pierce had already made up his mind as to what course of action he was going to take. It remained to be seen whether Pierce was waiting to see if Rumlow provided him with an opportunity to agree, or if Pierce was just waiting to make a fool of his underling.

“Additionally,” Rumlow continued, shifting his weight slightly, “if the Asset is to take him out into the field, then it needs to be able to control him. And that won’t happen if there’s no prior exposure.”

Pierce smiled coldly and unfolded his arms. “You are correct,” he said. “Give the Asset what it needs to feed him, and send it in.”

Rumlow drew himself upright and nodded deferentially. “Yes, sir!” he said, smartly, and spun on his heel. “Asset!” he barked, jerking his head at the Asset as he exited the room.

The Asset wasn’t led very far; Rumlow halted in front of the next door down the corridor. There was a large bucket of raw meat standing outside, and Rumlow pointed to it. “Take that,” he ordered. “You’ll be feeding him.”

Obediently, the Asset hefted the bucket. It’d seen a similarly-filled bucket being carried some time before and it had taken two technicians to manage it, but with its strength, it didn’t even have to use its metal arm. Rumlow unlocked the door and stood to the side of it. “In you go,” he instructed the Asset.

Knowing it wasn’t its place to wonder about Rumlow’s over-excessive caution, the Asset pushed open the door and took a step over the threshold.

Only to be immediately greeted by a roaring wall of flames.

“Unless you want your meat extra crispy, you’d better stop that!” Rumlow shouted.

The flames kept going for a few seconds and then, with a sound that was remarkably like an exasperated huff, they retreated down to nothing, finally allowing the Asset a cleared view of the room. 

It was large, much larger than the Asset would have expected from its placement in the base, but the space was necessary, as chained to the far wall was a huge lizard-like creature (_Dragon_, something whispered very deep inside the Asset, sounding awe-struck). Bright crimson scales covered it from head to toe, with gold ones running down its chest and underneath it along its belly. A matching gold fringe ran down the back of its head and the end of its tail which ended in a fin that strongly reminded the Asset of a fish’s, although the way it was gently thumping against the ground – or as gentle as it could be, considering it was raising a small cloud of dust every time it hit the ground – was more reminiscent of a cat. Long and exceedingly sharp claws, horns and fangs made the Asset reassess Rumlow’s caution. For someone who wasn’t as enhanced as the Asset, caution was probably wise around this creature.

It wasn’t until the creature’s head moved to cover its chest that the Asset realised that the strangely pale blue light in the room was actually coming from the creature itself. The underside of large wings were giving off flashes of the same kind of light whenever the creature moved, but the primary source was an odd circle in the middle of the creature’s chest.

The light coming from underneath its head made it look even more demonic, but the Asset was fairly certain the creature was glaring at it. It held the bucket up so the creature could see it was bringing food, and took a cautious step forward.

“You won’t have much luck trying to eat this one,” Rumlow called from outside the room, and the creature snarled at the doorway. “Bon appetite!” The door slammed shut with an echoing _clang_.

The creature snarled again, at the Asset this time, but it didn’t have much sound behind it, and the Asset realised that it was more for form than a real warning. It took another step forward, offering the bucket again. The creature sniffed in its direction, then sighed through his nose and tapped a claw on the floor in front of it.

The Asset tilted its head enquiringly, and the creature nosed towards the bucket again before tapping his claw again, more firmly. Even the Asset understood _that_: _put it here_. Obediently, it lowered the bucket to the floor in front of the creature.

_Tony_.

It was an odd name to think of for the creature; indeed, it was odd for the Asset to think anything at all, aside from how to follow the orders given. But . . . it wouldn’t really make any difference if the Asset thought ‘Tony’ instead of ‘the creature’, and Rumlow and Pierce wouldn’t know…

_Tony_ made a satisfied sound and lowered his head to sniff enthusiastically at the bucket. With surprisingly delicacy for a creature that large, he picked out a single piece of meat and laid it aside.

Perhaps the meat was bad, somehow? The Asset wondered if it should check that if it was kept on feeding duty. HYDRA seemed to want the creature – Tony – kept in good condition, and poisoning him via bad meat wouldn’t do that.

Before the Asset could make a move to remove the meat, though, Tony blew an intense blast of flame over it, leaving it cooked and sizzling. The Asset blinked at him. Rumlow had suggested Tony liked _raw_ meat; had the lieutenant been wrong? But instead of eating it, Tony gingerly used the side of a claw to nudge it further away from himself, closer to the Asset.

_Eat_.

The thought formed almost unbidden in the Asset’s mind. It was hungry, it was _always_ hungry, but the only nutrition it was allowed was the solution the technicians gave it every week, fed directly into its veins via an IV while it was in the Chair. Even if it felt like eating the meat – since it appeared that Tony definitely didn’t want it – it’d only be punished for it later.

Tony – snout already buried in the bucket – gave a muffled growl. The Asset flicked its gaze around but could see nothing that would have upset him now. Unless it was something to do with the meat in the bucket? Was there a specific kind of meat that Tony was supposed to have been given and hadn’t been?

_Eat!_

The Asset felt its neutral expression begin to slip. That was the third thought it shouldn’t have in as many minutes. Its programming was obviously beginning to wear off. The Asset would have to report that to Rumlow, and it would be put back in the Chair. They wouldn’t allow it to wander around if it was malfunctioning.

Tony raised his head out of the bucket and gave a deep growl. He lowered his head so that he could stare directly into the Asset’s eyes.

_You are not malfunctioning._

Of course it was. It was having strange thoughts that had nothing to do with the orders it had been given. It had to be reliable at all times. A weapon was no good if it didn’t operate as it should.

Tony pushed his snout against the Asset’s chest and inhaled deeply.

_You don’t smell like a weapon. _

The Asset blinked. That . . . had not seemed like a thought the Asset would ever have, even if it _was_ malfunctioning. Maybe there was something else wrong with it, something more than a simple Wipe would fix. Maybe it would be put back into Storage until the technicians worked out how to restore it to optimum conditioning.

Tony gave an exasperated huff and turned back to the bucket, tipping it over once he was done to signal Rumlow to fetch the Asset out.

There were no more strange thoughts.

* * *

The screaming finally stops echoing round the base.

This time, though, neither the screaming nor the lack of it affects the technicians. Screaming is an unfortunate side-effect when the Asset is in the Chair.

A handler stands at the foot of the Chair, the ubiquitous red book in his hand. “Soldat,” he says, not as a question but as a command.

“_Ready to comply_,” the Soldat replies, voice hoarse, Russian harsh and clipped.

The handler gestures at a bucket that sits at his feet. “Pick that up and follow me,” he says, his words in English now. It takes the Soldat a moment to parse the language out; it always does when the Soldat is first Wiped, despite the fact that the Soldat has been in American hands since the mid-1980s.

The technicians scurry to unfasten the last strap holding the Soldat down in place, and the Soldat obediently lurches from the Chair, muscles still trembling with the last remnants of electrical current. By the time the Soldat is fitted with the customary mask and tactical gear and bends to pick up the bucket, control has been forced over them once more, and the Soldat is perfectly steady as the handler leads the way deeper into the facility.

The handler stops in front of a door and spins abruptly on his heel to face the Soldat. It is entirely possible that he’s hoping the Soldat will crash into him, and so he’ll get to punish the Soldat further, but the Soldat has too much bodily control for that and halts immediately the handler does. The handler scowls at the Soldat.

“You’re going to go in there and feed the creature,” he orders. “Then you’re going to harness him up. You’re going on a scout and locate, and he’s going with you. We want to see how good at it he is. His behaviour is your responsibility. He messes up, tries to escape in any way or turns on us, _you_ get punished.” The handler smirks at this; he is _anticipating_ the Soldat’s punishment already.

“_Understood_,” the Soldat informs him, calmly.

The handler scowls again. “Why the hell can’t they get it to speak in goddamn _English_?” he mutters to himself, then turns to unlock the door, gesturing for the Soldat to enter. “In you go. Harness is on the wall behind the door,” he says.

The Soldat barely manages to enter the room before the door is slamming shut. The Soldat blinks, eyes adjusting to an unknown light source that appears to be failing.

Lying curled in the far corner is a large red and gold winged beast. It lifts its head as the door slams shut, and the strange light in the room grows brighter, allowing the Soldat to see that it’s coming from the creature itself.

_“Go in there and feed the creature_,” the handler’s order repeats in the Soldat’s head. This is what the Soldat is carrying the bucket for. Knowing that the handler is watching – somehow – the Soldat obediently steps forward and lowers the bucket to the ground close enough so that the creature can reach it, despite being chained to the wall behind it.

The beast eyes the Soldat narrowly, then presses its snout against the Soldat, inhaling sharply.

The Soldat has a brief moment of dissonance. If the creature eats the Soldat now, then that is surely bad behaviour, as they are supposed to be leaving for a mission which they cannot do if the Soldat is dead. The handler had not said that the Soldat could defend itself, but he _had_ said the Soldat would be punished for the creature’s misbehaviour . . . but the Soldat cannot be punished if the Soldat has already been eaten.

The creature turns its head towards the door and growls, a deep, _angry_ sound that vibrates through the Soldat. Does this count as turning on HYDRA? The Soldat suspects it does, but the Soldat won’t be punished so long as the beast doesn’t actually _attack_.

“_Eat,_” the Soldat instructs the beast, shifting weight to draw its attention. “_We have orders; a mission to complete. You must eat before the Soldat puts a harness on you._”

With a last growl towards the door, the creature turns its head to examine the Soldat again.

Then it shrugs.

The Soldat blinks at it, too surprised to hold back a reaction. It has been a very long time since the Soldat was released into the wider world, but animals should not give such a _human_ gesture.

The logic comes slowly. If this beast is capable of such a gesture, then it is clearly not a mindless beast. It is obviously not human, but it _is_ clearly intelligent. Enough to understand when someone uses human speech towards it.

Although it apparently doesn’t speak Russian.

“Eat,” the Soldat tells it again, in even rougher-sounding English this time, tongue not quite sure of the way to twist to form the correct words. “We have order, have mission. Eat, then the Soldat harness you.”

The creature gives a short huff through its nose and sits up to examine the bucket. It casts a quick sideways glance at the Soldat. It doesn’t appear to find whatever it’s looking for, and instead turns back to its meal. It eats incredibly neatly for such a large creature but no less fast for all that, and within minutes is cleaning out the bucket with its tongue.

The Soldat retrieves the harness from where it indeed hangs beside the door. At first it looks to be a complicated thing, a tangle of leather straps. But then the Soldat shakes it out, and it falls into a simple thing, three straps in total. One large loop to go around the body of the creature, one smaller one to go around the muzzle, and one strap to connect them.

The creature rumbles unhappily but remains still as the Soldat places the larger loop strap over its body. This is a good thing, since if it stood up, then the Soldat wouldn’t be able to reach. Even lying down, the creature’s body is as tall as the Soldat.

“Necessary,” the Soldat finds himself telling the creature when it comes to putting the smaller loop on. The Soldat has no idea why; the word just had to be said.

The beast sighs but lowers its head agreeably. Once the loop is fastened, it raises its head again and wiggles its jaw, obviously testing what little range of movement it has. It cannot open its mouth much, but its claws are still free, are still sharp. It is not unable to defend itself.

It is not until the Soldat turns to lead the creature out that a problem becomes apparent. The beast will not fit through the door.

The creature, however, already appears to know this, as it makes a noise that in any human would be called amusement and clambers to its feet.

It is only the Soldat’s knowledge of what HYDRA will do at any show of weakness that stops the Soldat from taking a step – or several – backwards. Previous estimates of the creature’s height were vastly understated. The Soldat barely reaches the beast’s elbow.

The beast turns itself around and takes one gigantic step across the room, bringing it up against the far wall. It isn’t until the light from the creature’s chest glints off the wall that the Soldat even realises there is another entrance there, one that is big enough for the creature to pass through, if it draws in its wings a little.

Before it can touch the entrance, or before the Soldat can cross the room to do so, a crackling noise erupts from a speaker high up in a corner above the original door the Soldat had entered through. This does not surprise the Soldat, who is fully aware that HYDRA watches everything that happens in one of their bases, but the creature flinches.

“Soldat,” the handler’s voice barks through the speaker. “You and the creature will leave this base by the far door. There is a group of peasants hiding out in the mountains who are creating problems for HYDRA. You will search them out, follow them back to their lair, and then remove all of them. Permanently. Understood?”

“_Understood_,” the Soldat responds, then remembers the handler’s complaint from before and corrects to English. “Understood.”

“Good. You have ninety six hours, beginning from the moment you leave this base. Failure to complete your mission in that period will result in punishment. Failure to control that creature will result in punishment. Failure to bring the creature back will result in punishment. Failure to return yourself will result in punishment. Rollins will be your handler for this mission. Contact him if any deviation must be made. Understood?”

The Soldat nods, once, firmly. “Understood. Ready to comply.”

There is a faint grumble from the beast, but the handler does not remark on it. If the beast is lucky, it was too low for anybody but the Soldat to notice.

The entrance in front of the beast slowly begins to crack open, and the beast and the Soldat stare out until they can see the snow-covered landscape beyond it. The creature huffs in disdain, then takes a step forward, pressing a front foot into the pure, unblemished snow.

_Mission countdown: 96:00:00._

* * *

It was the change in temperature that roused the Asset.

Things were still a little blurred, as they always tended to be in the immediate few hours after a Wipe, but it seemed to remember that when it closed its eyes to rest, the creature – _Tony_ – had curled up around it, wing mantled up over it as shelter. Now, though, the heat was a much smaller patch, down its right side.

The Asset opened its eyes and glanced sideways. It immediately rolled away and upright onto its feet, snatching up its weapon as it went to point it at the unexpected interloper.

Lying in Tony’s place was a man. He looked to be on the shorter side, with short, messy-looking brown hair, and a lean but muscular build in a strange type of swimsuit. The Asset was vaguely surprised – surely it should have heard Tony disappearing; he was not, after all, a creature that could be quiet. Where had this man come from? The only other humans anywhere nearby were the ones they were tracking. And why was he wearing a swimsuit? They were surrounded by deep snow; any water nearby should be frozen over.

The man stirred, disturbed by the abrupt removal of the Asset’s support. He wiggled a bit, then yawned and finally blinked his eyes open. His gaze immediately fixated on the barrel of the gun that the Asset was pointing at him, and he frowned in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he croaked out, then abruptly clapped a hand over his mouth, looking astonished. The Asset watched as the man patted his hand over his mouth and face before bringing his hand down to examine it, along with his other one. “I’m human,” the man said, excitedly, sitting up and patting himself all over and looking back up at the Asset, apparently not concerned anymore about it shooting him. “I’m _me_ again!”

“Who are you?” the Asset queried. “What did you do with the creature?” It frowned at itself. That had _not_ been what it had meant to ask! It had _meant_ to ask how the man had gotten here, without the Asset realising it. It was going to have to report itself for another Wipe once this mission had been done, although if it didn’t bring Tony back to the base then it was going to be punished anyway, which would likely include a Wipe.

The strange man grinned up at it, and thrust a hand out towards it. “Tony,” he said. “I’m Tony. _Wow_, it feels great to be able to _say_ that!”

“What did you do with the creature that was here?” repeated the Asset, shifting the gun slightly to remind the man that it had the upper hand here and he should be answering its questions.

The man’s grin slowly slid off his face. “Nothing,” he said, sounding puzzled now. “_I’m_ Tony.” When this obviously didn’t garner the reaction he expected, he frowned. “_I’m_ the creature. The dragon. The dragon was me,” he tried again, his hand finally lowering.

The Asset shook its head. “Negative,” it said. “Where is the creature? What are you doing here?” It hoped its handler wasn’t close enough to hear this conversation; Handler Rollins would not appreciate how long it took the Asset to concentrate on something _other_ than Tony the creature.

“Yeah, I know how it sounds,” the man sighed, his shoulders slumping. “But the dragon was definitely me. HYDRA did something to me. They caught me in . . . What’s the date, anyway?” he asked abruptly.

“Unknown,” the Asset informed him. “Information not relevant to mission.”

The man gave him a look that the Asset couldn’t decipher. “Right, right, weapon, yadda yadda…” he said. “Anyway, there I was, what seems like, and probably was, a very long time ago, minding my own business, when whose radar should I pop up on, but dear old HYDRA’s. Never mind the fact we thought they’d all been killed off _years_ ago . . .” He trailed off and shook his head. “Captain America would be _so_ disappointed,” he muttered.

The Asset felt a strange jolt go up its spine. Something deep inside its mind seemed to press closer. _Small, blond, feisty – can’t pass up a fight to save his life. But also big, strong – still unable to stay out of trouble._ It wanted to hear that name again.

Tony – the man – tilted his head and eyed the Asset consideringly. “You know,” he began, slowly, “before you put that mask on, you looked an awful lot like good old Steve’s bosom buddy, Bucky Barnes…”

The jolting was getting stronger. The Asset had the strange impression that it was _wrestling_ with someone, deep in its brain. The words this man was saying were resonating with it, triggering things that weren’t supposed to be triggered anymore—

“_Bucky_,” burst from its mouth, unbidden. “_Bucky . . . is . . ._ not relevant,” the Asset finished. “The Asset is all there is.”

Tony stood up, brushing the snow off himself as an afterthought. He suddenly looked sad, and the Asset didn’t like it. It didn’t like the way this entire interaction was going. Everything was wrong; both with it, and with the mission. It suddenly wanted to be back in Storage, where it didn’t have to worry about strange creatures and even stranger men turning up in their place, provoking odd and alarming feelings that the Asset shouldn’t even know about, let alone _feel_.

Blinking rapidly, the Asset realised that Tony was standing in front of him, hand raised as if the other man was going to touch his face. “I’m sorry,” Tony said, softly. “But I think you _are_ Bucky Barnes. God only knows that HYDRA have done to you, which I guess explains the whole ‘weapon’ and ‘malfunctioning’ thing – and which is completely untrue, by the way – but you, Bucky, _are_ relevant.”

As if it had been waiting for the confirmation, the _permission_, whatever had been waiting in the Asset’s brain surged forward. A deluge of memories cascaded through his mind, and he found himself on his knees in the snow, head clasped in his hands, as he struggled to orientate himself. Everything seemed so mixed up – images of the small, scrawny boy that he now remembered was his best friend arguing with a technician in a HYDRA base; the larger man his friend had become scrapping behind the movie theatre with a man who had been impatient with the war reels; aiming a rifle or a knife at so _many_ people, in Nazi uniforms, in Soviet uniforms, in suits, in dresses, in bassinets, in cars, in planes, hunched over a desk, their faces blurred.

“Oh, _God_,” Bucky Barnes rasped. His throat hurt. Had he been screaming? “What have I _done_?”

Warm hands abruptly gripped his wrists, and Bucky almost fell over trying to jerk away. “_You_ haven’t done anything,” Tony said, crouched to peer into Bucky’s eyes. His own – a warm brown shade – were concerned. “HYDRA, however, have done quite a lot. Starting with turning you into their very own weapon. Any idea how we get this mask off of you?”

“Buckle. Under my hair at the back of my neck,” croaked Bucky. He would have done it himself, but his hands were shaking too badly. He felt ridiculously fragile, like cracked glass, as if any little jolt was liable to crack him completely.

Tony slid a hand around his neck, fingers nimbly searching out the buckle. As soon as Bucky felt it loosen, he was scrambling to get it off and away from him. He threw it aside, not caring to watch where it landed.

“There we go.” Tony smiled at him. “That’s much better. Once we get you a shower, a trim and a change of clothes, you’ll look like your old handsome, pre-war self again.” He rose to his feet and peered around them. “Once we manage to find civilisation, of course…”

_Handsome?_ Bucky wondered, briefly side-tracked, then he shook the thought off. If anyone was the handsome one between them, it was definitely Tony. Not that it mattered anyway; even if Tony was . . . _that way_, once they were back among people who hopefully weren’t HYDRA operatives, then anything indicating either of them were _that way_ would get them immediately thrown into prison. Jail was marginally better than HYDRA, but he didn’t really want to put that to the test. Although he suspected Tony would be worth it.

Tony heaved a huge sigh and turned back to face him. “I think I need to change again,” he said, glumly. “If I happen to get stuck, then the person we’re looking to find is Pepper Potts, okay? She’s my CEO, and a more terrifying woman I’ve never met. Seriously, she could rule the world if she really wanted to.”

“Change.” Bucky rolled the word around his mouth. “You weren’t always a dragon, were you?”

“Of course not,” Tony snorted. “HYDRA were experimenting with stuff they’d built from the Tesseract, which was a glow-y, outer space cube. There was an alien invasion, which we won, and the Tesseract was taken away by _different_ aliens. When HYDRA got hold of me after that battle, they decided I’d make a good guinea pig for it and did something that forced me to change shapes.” He shuddered, obviously remembering, and Bucky abruptly remembered the screams that had made the technicians jumpy. That had been _Tony_, being tortured. He scowled. HYDRA _really_ needed to die.

Tony patted him on the shoulder. “We’re both free now,” he pointed out. “Let me just—” He stepped back, away from Bucky, and closed his eyes in concentration. After a few minutes, his form wavered, and then the red and gold dragon was back in his place.

Awed, Bucky slowly rose to his feet and stepped forward to run a hand over Tony’s scaled shoulder. Tony gave a brief rumble and pushed his snout against Bucky’s chest.

_Climb on._

This time, Bucky recognised the foreign thought for what it was: Tony’s method of communicating. He went to haul himself up, then paused. “This won’t hurt you, right?” he checked.

Tony shook his huge head and lowered himself to the ground to make it easier for Bucky to climb up. Bucky wasn’t sure whether he should be grateful the loops hadn’t transformed back onto Tony or not. At least they would have given him something to grip onto.

Once Bucky was settled, Tony rose to his full height again. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder at his passenger. _Here we go!_ he projected, and Bucky clutched at his neck as the wings beside him began to move.

For something that had never flown like this before, Tony took to it surprisingly well, and Bucky only had one brief scare when Tony was buffeted by a surprise slipstream.

“I hope you know where you’re going!” he called over the wind after they’d been flying for a while, tucking his face against Tony’s neck.

Tony rumbled with amusement, but Bucky felt it in the body beneath him rather than heard it.

_You should trust me,_ Tony told him. _I’m Tony Fucking Stark!_

And before Bucky could say anything, he’d folded his wings and dived.


End file.
